


My, What Big Eyes You Have

by LustMonster



Series: Over the River and Through the Woods [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, dubcon, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustMonster/pseuds/LustMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which we see Little Red Riding Charles and Big Bad Wolf Erik</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“…and you must be very careful in the woods, sweet.” Mother reminds for the nth time, eyes twinkling with something too close to maternal worry for comfort.

 

“Of course, Mother.” Charles smiles sweetly and fastens his brilliant crimson cloak about his neck, prim and proper to a fault. He leans into his mother when she wraps her arms around him, knowing full well she isn’t sure they shall meet again.

 

They both know what lurks in the forest.

 

But mother is too old for the trip to Grandmama Xavier’s and Raven too young and frightened. Leaving the ‘man’ of the house as the only viable option. He kisses his little sister’s forehead and tugs the hood of his new winter cloak up, reassuring her he’ll be back in a fortnight.

 

“Be good for Mama, yes?” She nods furiously, blonde ringlets bouncing, eyes wide and frightened. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too!” Her small arms wrap around his neck and refuse to let go until pried away.

 

“I’ll be back!” With a smile, Charles steps out into the bright morning, a little skip to his step, out past the white picket fence and into the woods where sunlight slants through the leaves and dapples the forest floor. He looks back until he crests the little hill that separates the Xavier Cottage from the brunt of the forest, where twilight always seems to reign.

 

He hums some nonsense tune he learned from Raven and plays an imaginary game of hopscotch, unable to stop grinning. After thirteen years of living, he’s finally being turned loose, even if it is simply to care for his sick grandmother. Yet and still, he can’t help remembering tales of what lurks in the forest. The Huntsman’s words dance through his mind.

 

 _“Teeth like daggers, lips drippin’ wi’ human blood, man-eatin’.”_

 _“What_ is _it?”_

 _“Donno.”_

 _“Man?”_

 _“Mehbeh once. Bu’ now…’e ain’t no man.”_

Charles shivers, drawing the cloak tighter around him, telling himself it’s the chill. Winter’s coming early this year, the huntsman had said it himself. Just the chill.

 

And of course he feels eyes on him. He’s in the forest, there are thousands of creatures residing here, it’s impossible he hasn’t attracted at least _one’s_ attention. Yes, and that cracking sound was a deer. It had to have been a deer.  

 

The path to Grandmama Xavier’s is well-trodden, ruts from carriage wheels scarring the land too deep for even the most hardy of grasses to grow. Tree roots, however, litter it, innocuous enough until one is right on top of them, at which point they become veritable trip wires. He clings to his basket, holding it tightly to his chest, lest the contents spill out when he stumbles on root after root.

 

“That _most certainly_ was _not_ a chuckle,” he tells himself, blaming it on the subtle wind in the trees, or perhaps the call of some strange avian creature. Not the creature of the forest or some bandit, not at all. He nods firmly but picks up his pace, almost cursing the forest for making the time so ambiguous. It’s impossible to tell if he’s been walking for hours or only minutes.

 

As much as Charles would like to call himself adventurous and masculine for his age, he’s a slip of an adolescent still going through puberty with low exertion rates. Meaning he can’t tell if the aching in his knees is from a long walk, or his own flimsiness.

 

“I don’t see why I can’t stop for just a moment,” he reasons, “Mother did pack me a snack, and I seem to be quite famished. Once I eat, I’ll be more energetic and I’ll cover twice as much ground to make up for lost time.”

 

With that logic, Charles finds an ancient redwood and sits between two, large roots, leaning against the trunk and gazing at the canopy of leaves above him. He rolls the cover back from the basket and pulls out the bread and cheese mother sent along and a small jar of water from their well. The bread is still warm from the oven and fluffy on the inside, the cheese a bit warm for his liking but nonetheless satisfying, and the water—as always—is sweet and clean.

 

“No need to start up again immediately,” he murmurs, nestling further into the bark, eyes beginning to droop. “Just a moment longer…”

 

When Charles opens his eyes, he is cognizant of two things: firstly, true night has fallen and he has no clue how long until its end, secondly, he is no longer alone. It shouldn’t be as obvious as it is in the almost pitch black, but the breaths on his neck indicate someone, or some _thing_ , is there beside him, inhaling deeply…no, _sniffing_. Something _sniffing_ him.

 

Out of careful habit, he stiffens, though his heart races. Then that chuckle, something stirring in him that says he’s heard it before. The measured breathing ghosts along his neck, as if trying to store away his scent, and Charles fights the whimper building in his throat. He wants little more than to live through this night, and prays his throat remains intact.

 

What he wants and what he’s capable of come into direct contrast when something wet and warm swipes across his quavering Adam’s apple. A _tongue_ he realizes belatedly, a distressed noise breaking past his trembling lips. And that little noise of mirth again.

 

“Shh.” What feels like some sort of talon caresses his cheek, eerily gentle for a beast. Albeit a very _humanoid_ beast. “Won’t hurt Red Boy.” The voice seems to struggle with language, but its meaning is clear. It—he—whatever, has no intention of harming Charles, though it’s of little comfort.

 

“P-Please go away,” he chokes out, regretting it when he feels the growl rumbling in the creature’s chest.

 

“ _No._ ” Low, murderous. “Red Boy _mine_.”

 

“R-Red Boy? N-No I’m Ch-Charles. Charles Xavier, and I need—”

 

“Sh!” And Charles is silent, breathing uneven, pupils dilated. The creature draws him in close, the gesture almost like that of a lover, and Charles catches the distinct scents of blood and dirt. Not filth, but the woodsy smell of freshly turned soil, not an all-around horrible smell, though there is the undertone of sweat and something decidedly sour, which he attributes to the face-full  of fur he’s met with.

 

Then the creature draws back and Charles catches the distinct flash of teeth. Teeth growing closer, then covered but still coming closer until a mouth is pressed firmly against his. If possible, Charles grows stiffer, eyes wider. This… _beast_ is kissing him as if it were completely normal. As if they weren’t strangers.

 

Its tongue is wandering but demanding, shoving its way into his mouth without so much as a by-your-leave and pillaging every inch of it. The kiss is clumsy on both ends, full of teeth and tongue and eventually blood, though whose is difficult to tell. For every inch Charles gains as he fights to push the beast away, he loses two, being slowly dragged closer. Finally, in a blazing moment of defiance, Charles bites down on the creature’s tongue, satisfied at the spurt of blood and pained grunt as it pulls away.

 

He regrets it almost immediately when the creature strikes him, claws dragging across his cheek and opening gashes that begin to gush almost instantaneously. The hand around his throat screams he isn’t getting off so easily. His back meets the tree with a loud **_thud_** that makes his head snap forward. The monster holds him at eye-level, the stench of fresh blood filling his awareness.

 

“ _No_.” His kiss is furious, all-consuming, wholly animalistic. And Charles can’t fight it. Something in him doesn’t _want_ to fight it, and somehow he finds himself kissing back, clinging to the stubbly, unfamiliar face like he could suck oxygen from this man-beast, as if he will reach a Nirvana through the exchange.  It isn’t until those questing hands reach for his trousers that Charles finds his head.

 

“Stop,” he gasps, pulling away, his entire body tingling and _alive_. But the beast doesn’t listen. The beast continues on as if his pulling away was an invitation to attack another part of his body. Teeth and tongue attach to Charles’ jugular and calloused fingers do away with his winter pants, ripping the fabric completely away from his skinny legs. Then those same hands are on his only recently-developed cock, scraping along the sensitive flesh with an almost manic determination.

 

Charles gasps, attempting to squirm higher up the tree, but the beast will have none of it. He grips the boy’s burgeoning erection roughly, pumping it with unskilled hands, eyes gleaming with lust in the darkness, slicing through Charles like a knife. Through the haze, Charles hears himself begging, his body convulsing with either pleasure or pain, he couldn’t tell. No matter his words or movements, the man keeps on, pressing him against the tree with enough force to make his spine scream in protest.

 

He comes with a flinch, spilling his shame between them, eyes filling with unshed tears. But before they can fall, there’s the man-beast, kissing them away with a tenderness he has not known moments before.  

 

“Shh,” he breathed, more to comfort than threaten this time. “Sleep.” And, very much against his will, he does.

 

***

 

When Charles opens his eyes, it’s decidedly morning. The scant amount of light that manages to cut through the tree canopy dazzles his unprepared eyes, leaving him momentarily blind.

 

“Morning.” The grunt brings memories of the night before flooding back, and Charles colors immediately, jerking away from the monstrous man. A smile with too many teeth lights the man-beast’s features, and he looks almost…human, blue-green eyes flickering with something like an ancient affection.

 

“W-Why?” Charles draws the rumpled cloak tighter against himself. “Why did you…”

 

“Love you.” He shrugs, holding out a worn lock of chestnut hair, held together by a filthy ribbon. Something inside Charles melts at that, though he can’t quite understand why he isn’t immediately revolted. The man’s grin widens, and he presses his chapped lips to Charles’ cheek.

 

“How long?”

 

“Always.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep. So I decided to put this as chapter 2 and then each part will have two or three chapters, likely switching POVs. Next up is Erik, yayy~!  
> So sorry this is so long overdue, but I'm finally working out a balance in the fic updating so bear with me

Erik doesn’t mind sleeping outside. In his own way, he confesses the feeling of four walls around him have become stifling to a man now conditioned to a life exposed to the sometimes harsh conditions of the forest. He smiles at Charles’ worry and runs his fingers through the crudely sewn furs, shrugging.

 

“Are you sure?” It’s a stretch, but Charles reaches up to cup his beast’s stubbly cheek, running the pad of his thumb along the man’s cheekbone, tender and smiling.

 

“Yes. Go.” He pushes Charles toward the back door gently before thinking better of it and stealing a kiss before continuing his nudging.

 

“Good night.”

 

“Love you.” Charles smiles, still unsure how to respond, and closes the door slowly. In the weeks since his arrival, Grandmama Xavier has been faring better, now able to at least totter around her one room cottage. She sleeps peacefully now in her bed, the flickering light from the fireplace casting an orangey glow on her weathered, white skin.

 

Charles smiles at her inert form and curls up in the nest of goose feather pillows and handmade quilts serving as his bed for the time being.

 

His days consist of doing the chores Grandmama no longer can, making sure she drinks the medicinal tea Mother prescribed and travelling the surrounding woods with Erik in tow. The wild man is like a wolf-man-shark hybrid, a natural predator. His moods are volatile at best and he speaks little, but the love and acceptance that radiates from him makes it impossible for Charles to mistrust or fear him.

 

Something like affection curls in the pit of his stomach, thinking of the hyper-possessive, borderline-obsessive man, warming him from the core and out. He drifts off with a smile on his lips.

 

***

 

“Why do you live in the forest all alone?” Charles drops to his knees, basket dropping down beside him with a light _thud_. He listens—in vain—for anything signifying Erik is there and real. A rustle or sigh, anything. Instead, there is only a contemplative silence before a heavy _whump_ startles him from berry picking.

 

Upon inspection, Charles giggles nervously, realizing Erik has dropped his furs. Beneath the combination of pelts, the man is almost completely naked, dirt smearing his finely-toned chest and abdomen. Save something like a loincloth, his lean body is bare to the world. His stance is no less casual, his eyes no less adoring as they gaze down on Charles.

 

“Erik?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“You never answered me.”

 

“Doesn’t matter.” He gives Charles a pleasant smile and kneels beside him, large hands delving into the bush beside Charles. “Helping.”

 

“I can see that, Erik,” Charles’ voice is patient, and Erik smiles his disturbingly wolfish-yet-shark-like smile.

 

His presence is warm and comforting, though he’s silent. Charles longs to tear his mind open and spill the contents out for examination. He longs to know what thoughts pass through his mind, what language they’re in so he can draw out something like verbosity and the intelligence he knows is there. The desire to know everything about this man is all-consuming, but his laconic, bitten-off answers say nothing.

 

Charles is so deep in thought he doesn’t notice the bush has been stripped bare until Erik’s hand is on his thigh.

 

“Done.” Is all he says, waving both at the plant and the basket.

 

“O-Oh, thank you Erik.” Charles smiles sheepishly and collects himself, shrugging his cloak back to envelope his small body, the brilliantly dyed fabric whispering as it falls into place. He knows Erik will follow as he makes his way back to Grandmama’s cottage, a silent but powerful presence that stills the forest.

 

“I have to return home in a few days, my time here is almost up,” Charles announces slowly, glancing back to attempt to gauge the emotions flitting across his beast’s face. Erik grunts but makes no other response, adjusting his furs as he walks, silent as death. “Will you come? Stay near my cottage? I can visit you there, too. It’ll be a little harder since we have callers and Raven’s schoolmates and my own studies, but—”

 

“I will come.” Erik shrugs his broad shoulders and Charles feels himself grinning.

 

“Alright then.”

 

***

 

It’s right before the night of Charles’ departure that they receive a visitor.

 

Huntsman Shaw is much smaller in stature and musculature than Huntsman Logan, and decidedly crueler to the animals. But he hasn’t given Charles reason to dislike or be suspicious of him, so he lets him into the warm cottage without qualms. Putting more tea on to boil.

 

“Evening Charles, Mrs. Xavier.” Shaw inclines his head to each Xavier in turn, smiling his disconcerting smile, frosty blue eyes serene and inquiring.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Shaw.” Grandmama smiles pleasantly at their guest and gestures to the seat across from her own where Charles normally sits. “Please, sit and warm yourself by the fire. It’s been so cold out lately, you’ll catch your death out there. I trust your woman put some coals in those boots of yours?”

 

“Yes, ma’am, Emma takes good care of me.” Shaw nods and leans back, pulling off his heavy boots and shaking out the cooled coals from their cloth.

 

“Charles, heat those for Mr. Shaw, would you?”

 

“Yes, Grandmama.” Charles is quick to obey, carrying on his little errands while his grandmother and Shaw swap stories and chat about nonsense, Shaw mentioning that he thinks his wife, Emma, may be pregnant and how excited he is to become a father.

 

“A boy, I hope.” The man is saying. “I’ll call him Hiram, after my father.”

 

“Hiram Shaw, that’s a strong name.”

 

“Emma thinks so too.”

 

“And if it’s a girl?”

 

“Let’s hope it isn’t.” They both laugh, though there’s nothing even mildly amusing about the statement. Charles feels a twist of dislike in his gut, gazing out the window where he just barely spots Erik—clearly trying to catch his attention—amongst the trees, glaring daggers at Shaw. He mouths something, but all Charles gets is ‘ _Don’t_ ’ before Shaw is snatching his attention back.

 

“Charles, could you help me get my boots back on?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Shaw.” As he bends to help get the thick boots back on, he catches the sound of Shaw murmuring to him.

 

“…want to talk to you outside, don’t tell your grandmother. Act normal.” Charles continues lacing the boots, acting as if he hasn’t heard a thing.

 

“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Xavier.” Shaw stands abruptly, and Charles takes several quick steps back, then out of the cottage under the guise of fetching more firewood.

 

Huntsman Shaw steps out and surveys the forest as if he’s forgotten he wanted to speak with Charles. It isn’t until he’s at the gate that he even acknowledges the boy.

 

“Charles, c’mere.” He inches closer. “I wanted to ask you: have you seen anything…strange, in the forest?”

 

“Strange? Strange how?”

 

“You know the legends of the forest.”

 

 _Erik, he means Erik_. Charles’ heart leaps into his throat and constricts airflow.

 

“O-Of the m-man-beast?”

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“B-But that’s just a legend.”

 

Shaw looks him up and down, eyes narrowing as if trying to catch him in a lie. Then he’s smiling and clapping Charles on the back. “’course it is. You take care of yourself, y’here? And if you see this ‘man-beast’ you tell me right away, okay?”

 

“Yes Mr. Shaw. S-Safe travels.”

 

Shaw tips his hunters’ cap and slings his gun up over his shoulder, whistling cheerfully as he strolls down the path, disappearing into the forest. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my little Tuesgay contribution, oneshot that will likely be a two or three shot series.


End file.
